Let me make myself perfectly clear, Dr. Wings. I don’t trust you. Not one bit.

I know I’ve got a quarantine zone full of sick Americans out there and Washington says you’re the big bird who understand this virus more than anyone else, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re still one of THEM. That’s right. I don’t care how many pretty songs spilled out of that beak of yours to get you here or what miracles those talons have performed in order to prove yourself. Because, you see, I know how your kind works, you birds of a feather. You always flock together, don’t you?

So remember this, Doctor. I’ll be watching you like a… well, you get the idea. You do anything to endanger this mission or the lives of anyone under my command, and I’ll have you fried up and served with mashed potatoes and brown gravy before days ends, you understand?

Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to discuss a swine flu outbreak with Dr. Bacon.

Wear this shirt: while screaming about the Winged Doom Bringers and standing atop a soapbox waving a sign reading “The End Flies High” on a busy street corner. Bring a bullhorn for added effect.

Don’t wear this shirt: if you’re scared of birds. Duh.

This shirt tells the world: “I twuaght I taw a pwague of woe!”

We call this color: Raven Black Doom

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